The Secret Passage
"Now what are we to make of all this? The doctor declares that Miss Loach when discovered had been dead half an hour, which corresponds with the time the door was heard to open or shut by Thomas. So far, it would seem that the assassin had escaped then, having committed the crime and found the coast inside and outside the house clear for his flight. But who rang the bell? That is the question we ask. The deceased could not have done so, as, according to the doctor, the poor lady must have died immediately. Again, the assassin would not have been so foolish as to ring and thus draw attention to his crime, letting alone the question that he could not have escaped at that late hour. We can only offer this solution.
"The assassin must have been concealed in the bedroom, and after Susan ascended the stairs to let Mr. Clancy out, he must have stolen into the sitting-room and have killed the old lady before she could even rise. She might have touched the bell, and the button (the bell is an electric one) may have got fixed. Later on, the heat of the room, warping the wood round the ivory button, may have caused it to slip out, and thus the bell would have rung. Of course our readers may say that when pressed down the bell would have rung continuously, but an examination has revealed that the wires were out of order. It is not improbable that the sudden release of the button may have touched the wires and have set them ringing. The peal is described as being short and sharp. This theory is a weak one, we are aware, but the whole case is so mysterious that, weak as it is, we can offer no other solution.
"Mrs. Herne, the servants, and Messrs. Hale and Clancy were examined. All insist that Miss Loach was in her usual health and spirits, and had no idea of committing suicide, or of being in any danger of sudden death. The weapon cannot be discovered, nor the means – save as we suggest above – whereby the assassin can have made his escape. The whole affair is one of the most mysterious of late years, and will doubtless be relegated to the list of undiscovered crimes. The police have no clue, and apparently despair of finding one. But the discovery of the mystery lies in the bell. Who rang it? or did it ring of itself, as we suggest above."
Cuthbert laid down the paper with a shrug. The article did not commend itself to him, save as the means of making a precis of the case. The theory of the bell appeared excessively weak, and he could not understand a man being so foolish as to put it forward.
"If the button was pressed down by Miss Loach, the bell would have rung at once," argued Cuthbert; "and when it slipped up, even with the heat, the ringing would have stopped. But the bell rang at eleven, and the girl was in the room two minutes later. Someone must have rung it. But why did someone do this, and how did someone escape after ringing in so fool-hardy a manner?"
He could not find an answer to this question. The whole case was indeed most perplexing. There seemed absolutely no answer to the riddle. Even supposing Miss Loach had been murdered out of a long-delayed revenge by a member of the Saul family – and that theory appeared ridiculous to Mallow – the question was how did the assassin escape? Certainly, having regard to the cards still being on the lap of the deceased, and the closing of the door at a time when the policeman was not in the vicinity, the assassin may have escaped in that way. But how did he come to be hidden in the bedroom, and how did he kill the old lady before she had time to call out or even rise, seeing that he had the whole length of the room to cross before reaching her? And again, the escape of the assassin at this hour did not explain the ringing of the bell. Cuthbert was deeply interested, and wondered if the mystery would ever be solved. "I must see Jennings after all," he thought as the train steamed into Paddington.
And see Jennings he did, sooner than he expected. That same evening when he was dressing to go out, a card was brought. It was inscribed "Miles Jennings." Rather surprised that the detective should seek him out so promptly, Cuthbert entered his sitting-room. Jennings, who was standing with his back to the window, saluted him with a pleasant smile, and spoke to him as to an equal. Of course he had every right to do so since he had been at school with Mallow, but somehow the familiarity irritated Cuthbert.
"Well, Jennings, what is it?"
"I came to ask you a few questions, Mallow."
"About what?"
"About the murder at Rose Cottage."
"But, my dear fellow, I know nothing about it."
"You knew Miss Loach?"
"Yes. I saw her once or twice. But I did not like her."
"She is the aunt of the young lady you are engaged to marry?"
Mallow drew himself up stiffly. "As a matter of fact she is," he said with marked coldness. "But I don't see – "
"You will in a minute," said Jennings briskly. "Pardon me, but are you in love with another woman?"
Mallow grew red. "What the devil do you mean by coming here to ask me such a question?" he demanded.
"Gently, Mallow, I am your friend, and you may need one."
"What do you mean. Do you accuse me of – "
"I accuse you of nothing," said Jennings quickly, "but I ask you, why did you give this photograph, with an inscription, to the servant of the murdered woman."
"I recognize my photograph, but the servant – "
"Susan Grant. The picture was found in her possession. She refuses to speak," here the detective spoke lower, "in case you get into trouble with the police."
CHAPTER VII
THE DETECTIVE
The two men looked at one another, Jennings searchingly, and Cuthbert with a look of mingled amazement and indignation. They were rather like in looks, both being tall, slim and fair-haired. But Mallow wore a mustache, whereas the detective, possibly for the sake of disguising himself on occasions, was clean-shaven. But although Jennings' profession was scarcely that of a gentleman, he looked well-bred, and was dressed with the same quiet taste and refinement as characterized Mallow. The public-school stamp was on both, and they might have been a couple of young men about town discussing sport rather than an officer of the law and a man who (it seemed from Jennings' hints) was suspected of complicity in a crime.
"Do you mean this for a jest?" said Cuthbert at length.
"I never jest on matters connected with my profession, Mallow. It is too serious a one."
"Naturally. It so often involves the issues of life and death."
"In this case I hope it does not," said Jennings, significantly.
Cuthbert, who was recovering his composure, sat down with a shrug. "I assure you, you have found a mare's nest this time. Whatever my follies may have been, I am not a criminal."
"I never thought you were," rejoined the other, also taking a seat, "but you may have become involved with people who are criminals."
"I dare say half of those one meets in society are worthy of jail, did one know what is done under the rose," returned Cuthbert; "by the way, how did you come so opportunely?"
"I knew you had gone out of town, as I came a few days ago to see you about this matter, and inquired. Your servant said you were in Devonshire – "
"I went to see my mother who was ill," said Mallow quickly.
"I guessed as much. You said something about your mother living in Exeter when we met last. Well, I had Paddington watch for your return, and my messenger – "
"Your spy, you mean," said Mallow angrily.
"Certainly, if you prefer the term. Well, your spy – I mean my spy, reported that you were back, so I came on here. Are you going out?"
"I was, but if you wish to arrest me – "
"Nonsense, man. I have only come to have a quiet chat with you. Believe me, I wish you well. I have not forgotten the old Eton days."
"I tell you what, Jennings, I won't stand this talk from any man. Are you here as a gentleman or as a detective?"
"As both, I hope," replied the other dryly, "but are we not wasting valuable time? If you wish to go out this evening, the sooner we get to business the better. Will you answer my questions?"
"I must know what they are first," said Cuthbert defiantly.
Jennings looked irritated. "If you won't treat me properly, I may as well leave the matter alone," he said coldly. "My position is quite unpleasant enough as it is. I came here to an old schoolfellow as a friend – "
"To try and implicate him in a crime. Thanks for nothing."
Jennings, whose patience appeared to be exhausted, rose. "Very well, then, Mallow. I shall go away and hand over the matter to someone else. I assure you the questions must be answered."
Cuthbert made a sign to the other to be seated, which Jennings seemed by no means inclined to obey. He stood stiffly by his chair as Mallow paced the room reflectively. "After all, I don't see why we should quarrel," said the latter at length.
"That's just what I've been driving at for the last ten minutes."
"Very good," said Mallow soothingly, "let us sit down and smoke. I have no particular engagement, and if you will have some coffee – "
"I will have both cigarette and coffee if you will help me to unravel this case," said Jennings, sitting down with a smoother brow.
"But I don't see what I can – "
"You'll see shortly. Will you be open with me?"
"That requires reflection."
"Reflect as long as you like. But if you decline, I will hand the case over to the next man on the Scotland Yard list. He may not deal with you so gently."
"I don't care how he deals with me," returned Mallow, haughtily; "having done no wrong, I am not afraid. And, what is more, Jennings, I was coming to see you as soon as I returned. You have only forestalled our interview."
"What did you wish to see me about?"
"This case," said Cuthbert, getting out a box of cigarettes and touching the bell. "The deuce!" said Jennings briskly, "then you do know something?"
Cuthbert handed him the box and gave an order for coffee. "Any liqueur?" he asked in friendly tones.
"No. I never drink when on – ah – er – pleasure," said the other, substituting another word since the servant was in the room. "Well," he asked when the door closed, "why did you wish to see me?"
"To ask if you remember a coining case that took place some twenty years ago?"
"No. That was before my time. What case is it?"
"Some people called Saul were mixed up in it."
"Humph! Never heard of them," said Jennings, lighting his cigarette, "but it is strange you should talk of coining. I and several other fellows are looking for a set of coiners now. There are a lot of false coins circulating, and they are marvellously made. If I can only lay my hands on the coiners and their factory, there will be a sensation."
"And your reputation will be enhanced."
"I hope so," replied the detective, reddening. "I want a rise in my salary, as I wish to marry. By the way, how is Miss Saxon?"
"Very well. You met her, did you not?"
"Yes! You took me to that queer house. What do they call it? the – 'Shrine of the Muses' – where all the sham art exists. Why do you look so grave, old boy?"
The two men, getting more confidential, were dropping into the language of school-days and speaking more familiarly. Mallow did not reply at once, as his servant had just brought in the coffee. But when each gentleman was supplied with a cup and they were again alone, he looked gravely at Miles. "I want to ask your advice," he said, "and if you are my friend – "
"I am, of course I am."
"Well, then, I am as interested in finding out who killed Miss Loach as you are."
"Why is that?" demanded Jennings, puzzled.
"Before I answer and make a clean breast of it, I should like you to promise that you will get no one I know into trouble."
Jennings hesitated. "That is a difficult matter. Of course, if I find the assassin, even if he or she is one of your friends, I must do my duty."
"Oh, I don't expect anything of that sort," said Mallow easily, "but why do you say 'he' or 'she'?"
"Well, the person who killed Miss Loach might be a woman."
"I don't see how you make that out," said Cuthbert reflectively. "I read the case coming up in the train to-day, and it seems to me from what The Planet says that the whole thing is a mystery."
"One which I mean to dive into and discover," replied Miles. "I do not care for an ordinary murder case, but this is one after my own heart. It is a criminal problem which I should like to work out."
"Do you see your way as yet?" asked Cuthbert.
"No," confessed Jennings, "I do not. I saw the report you speak of. The writer theorizes without having facts to go on. What he says about the bell is absurd. All the same, the bell did ring and the assassin could not have escaped at the time it sounded. Nor could the deceased have rung it. Therein lies the mystery, and I can't guess how the business was managed."
"Do you believe the assassin rang the bell?"
Miles shrugged his shoulders and sipped his coffee. "It is impossible to say. I will wait until I have more facts before me before I venture an opinion. It is only in detective novels that the heaven-born Vidocq can guess the truth on a few stray clues. But what were you going to tell me?"
"Will you keep what I say to yourself?"
"Yes," said Jennings, readily enough, "so long as it doesn't mean the escape of the person who is guilty."
"I don't ask you to betray the confidence placed in you by the authorities to that extent," said Mallow, "just wait a moment."
He leaned his chin on his hand and thought. If he wished to gain the hand of Juliet, it was necessary he should clear up the mystery of the death. Unaided, he could not do so, but with the assistance of his old schoolfellow – following his lead in fact – he might get at the truth. Then, when the name of the assassin of her sister was known, the reason of Mrs. Octagon's strange behavior might be learned, and, moreover, the discovery might remove her objection. On the other hand, Cuthbert could not help feeling uneasy, lest Mrs. Octagon had some secret connected with the death which made her refuse her consent to the match, and which, if he explained to Jennings what he knew, might become known in a quarter which she might not approve of. However, Mallow was certain that, in spite of Mrs. Octagon's hint, his uncle had nothing to do with the matter, and he had already warned her – although she refused to listen – that he intended to trace the assassin. Under these circumstances, and also because Jennings was his friend and more likely to aid him, than get anyone he knew and respected into trouble, the young man made up his mind to tell everything.
"The fact is, I am engaged to Juliet Saxon," he began, hesitatingly.
"I know that. She is the daughter of that absurd Mrs. Octagon, with the meek husband and the fine opinion of herself."
"Yes. But Juliet is the niece of Miss Loach."
"What!" Jennings sprang from his chair with a look of surprise; "do you mean to tell me that Mrs. Octagon is Miss Loach's sister."
"I do. They quarrelled many years ago, and have not been friendly for years. Mrs. Octagon would never go and see her sister, but she did not forbid her children being friendly. As you may guess, Mrs. Octagon is much distressed about the murder, but the strange thing is that she declares this death renders it impossible for me to marry her daughter."
Jennings looked searchingly at his friend. "That is strange. Does she give no reason?"
"No. But knowing my uncle knew her when she was a girl, I thought I would ask him what he thought. He told me that he had once been engaged to Miss Loach, and – "
"Well, go on," said Miles, seeing Cuthbert hesitating.
"There was another lady in the case."
"There usually is," said Jennings dryly. "Well?"
"The other lady's name was Saul – Emilia Saul."
"Oh," Miles sat down again. He had remained standing for a few moments. "Saul was the name you mentioned in connection with the coining case of twenty years ago."
Cuthbert nodded, and now, being fully convinced that he badly needed Jennings' aid, he told all that he had heard from Caranby, and detailed what his mother had said. Also, he touched on the speech of Mrs. Octagon, and repeated the warning he had given her. Miles listened quietly, but made no remark till his friend finished.
"You have told me all you know?" he asked.
"Yes. I want you to help me. Not that I think what I have learned has anything to do with the case."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Jennings musingly, his eyes on the carpet. "Mrs. Octagon bases her refusal to allow the marriage on the fact of the death. However, you have warned her, and she must take the consequence."
"But, my dear Jennings, you don't think she has anything to do with the matter. I assure you she is a good, kind woman – "
"With a violent temper, according to your mother," finished Jennings dryly. "However, don't alarm yourself. I don't think she is guilty."
"I should think not," cried Mallow, indignantly. "Juliet's mother!"
"But she may have something to do with the matter all the same. However, you have been plain with me, and I will do all I can to help you. The first thing is for us to follow up the clue of the portrait."
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